


Bubblegum

by firstordershitposting (ald0us)



Series: Save Room For Dessert [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bad Science Jokes, Holiday Suffering, M/M, Science Kinks (double bonds in a lipid membrane), excessive Canadian-ness, sequel to Cherry, smut with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9830969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ald0us/pseuds/firstordershitposting
Summary: KINKY CUMSLUT FLORIDA MAN TAKES IT UP THE ASSKylo Ren, alias Lord Ten Inches, and Armitage Hux, PhD, try the greatest kink of them all: love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Is the summary a porn title? A Florida headline? The world will never know.
> 
> I’m really glad this was my first published fic of the year but also embarrassed that it's coming (heh) in February. Special thanks to [horatiosroom](https://horatiosroom.tumblr.com) for a FANTASTIC beta and [minzimpression](http://minzimpression.tumblr.com) and [slutstiels](http://minzimpression.tumblr.com) for chatting with me about this sequel and assuring me I’m not complete sentimental garbage. Now with many more nerdy science jokes.
> 
> If you have not, please read [Cherry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8610268) first.

“Yeah, that’s it, babe,” Kylo groaned, curling his huge hands around Hux’s bare waist, hot and sweaty. “Filthy fucking cowgirl, fucking your own horse—“

Hux stopped thrusting, rather out of breath, and righted the cowboy hat on his head. “ _What_?”

Ren moaned something that sounded like _c’mon, babe,_ tossing his head back against the pillow and making his dark curls splay around him rather fetchingly _._ “Don’t stop now, babe, I’m so close—“

“No,” Hux said. “You definitely have to repeat that. Did you just compare yourself to a _horse_?”

Ren peered up at him with dark, sparkling eyes. “Well, I am hung like one.”

“I’m well aware, Ren, but while I do labor to indulge your weird rural Texas fantasy, invoking bestiality really is a bit of a mood killer.”

Ren groaned again. “You’re such a cockblock. If you kill my boner now I’m not eating you out.” He poked Hux’s stomach and grabbed at his tiny jean skirt. “C’mon, babe, move, please, babe, I’m dying here—“

Hux sighed and clenched around him, letting out a groan himself. Ren yelped suddenly and Hux swore apologetically. “At least let me take off the bloody spurs!”

“Absolutely not,” Ren said, and patted the absolutely ridiculous, Texas-flag emblazoned cowboy boots he’d presented to him not an hour earlier. “C’mon, babe, move that itty bitty ass, please—“

" _Get on with it!_ ” Betty yelled from the trailer over. “ _I’ll be dead by the time you’re done!”_

Hux started. He could never quite be sure if her exclamations were in reaction to their activities, the recordings of past activities she seemed to be always watching, or _A Place to Call Home,_ her new favorite soap. Either way, it was rather jarring.

“Better rural Texas fetish than Texas Chainsaw Massacre fetish,” Ren reasoned, blasting all thoughts of Betty’s entertainment from his mind, then was blissfully cut off by a stream of his own profanity as Hux pushed his hips down hard, setting a brutal pace. (It was all a very good workout for his legs, he told himself, and indeed his thighs had become a bit harder in the last few months. His abdominal muscles, too. Was that how Ren was so shredded?)

He came rather abruptly in the middle of this thought and gasped loudly as Ren flooded him, collapsing on Ren’s chest and palming absently at one sweat-soaked pectoral.

“Fuck,” he said, with feeling.

“Aww, babe, we came together, that’s so cute,” Ren said in a rumbling, delighted tone that he usually reserved only for when Hux bought him Pop Tarts or let him trade the Darth Vader fruit snacks in Hux’s bag for Ren’s Yodas. He twisted his fingers clumsily in Hux’s hair. “Are you ready for me to devour your itty bitty ass whole? Sponge you clean from the inside?”

“You don’t have to talk like that when the camera isn’t on, you know,” Hux grumbled, but did not protest further when Ren clambered out from under him and bumped his nose eagerly against Hux’s tailbone. He gave him a hot, filthy lick from his balls to the small of his back and Hux whined and shivered in delight.

“Mmm, babe, you taste so good,” Ren purred, and gripped the cheeks of his ass in his ridiculously large hands.

“You’re complimenting your own come!” Hux snapped, but was quickly choked off as Ren’s hot, muscular tongue wriggled inside of him with breathtaking alacrity. Ren was ludicrously proud of the length and dexterity of his tongue and would touch the tip of it to his nose—which, given its impressive size relative to the rest of his face, was a feat—for anyone who asked. It had been a great hit at Betty’s 95th birthday party. “Christ, Kylo, when was the last time you shaved?”

“Mmm,” Ren said again, rumbling deep and long into him; the reverberations transmitted up his spine and Hux shivered, idly wondering if Ren’s superpower was to find the resonant frequencies of different parts of his body. If just the right tone was struck, would he shatter? Or orgasm? Or both—?

Hux cried out suddenly as Ren’s teeth scraped at his sensitive entrance.

“I can hear you thinking,” Ren pouted, plush lower lip pushed out. “All the science-y stuff. It’s distracting.”

“It’s hardly freshman physics, Ren, it shouldn’t prove too taxing— _ahh_!”

The last was as Ren dove into him with renewed vigor, as if to prove he was more engrossing than Hux’s beloved vocation. He did have to admit it wasn’t often that science woke him up with a blowjob, week-old bagels, and approximately six boiled eggs.

Ren had begun eating healthy just to please him, accounting for the presence of foods with higher chemical and nutritional complexity. Otherwise Hux was quite sure his diet consisted of nothing but Doritos, pizza, Goldfish, fruit snacks, and beer. Hux was keenly anticipating the day they might work up to something that actually photosynthesized.

When Ren was at last satisfied and Hux was a boneless, satiated lump on the mattress, Hux asked, “So have you decided if you’ll come to Christmas?”

One dark eye opened. Ren was silent for a moment. Then, “Will you watch _Mean Girls_ with me if I do?”

“Yes, Ren, I will watch _Mean Girls_ with you.”

“And wrestlemania,” Ren added. “You gotta suck me off during it though, I’ve always wanted to be sucked off during wrestlemania.”

It took a great deal of self-control and patience for Hux to say, “And I will suck you off during wrestlemania.”

Ren crushed him in a sweaty bear hug. “You’re the best not-boyfriend ever,” he rumbled into Hux’s shoulder. “I’m not letting your baby twinky ass go, not even to Christmas without me.”

“I know I am,” Hux sighed, ignoring the rest. “You, on the other hand, are the worst not-boyfriend ever.”

“Shut up, or I’ll tell your father what you called me the first time I spanked you—ow!” The last was as Hux dug his fingernails rather vindictively into Ren’s ass.

 

 

“Good morning,” Hux said a bit frostily when Ren lumbered sleepily out of the bedroom, rubbing at his dark eyes and scrubbing at his growing scruff of a black beard.

Ren just groaned. “Babe, are we out of Pop Tarts again?”

“I threw them away,” Hux said crisply, not looking up from his cue cards.

“You what?!” Ren gasped, clutching at his bare chest, as if he had just been informed of the miscarriage of his unborn child. “You—you douchebag tyrant. What am I supposed to eat now?”

“Well,” Hux began. “Today I’ve prepared you a nutrient-rich bowl of oatmeal fortified with Omega 6 and fatty acids calculated in rough proportion to your suggested calorie intake for a healthy male of your age and body-mass index.”

“Okay,” Ren said, and turned and picked up the trash can and began to paw through it until he’d withdrawn one rather slimy Pop Tart (Hux had possessed the foresight to unwrap them before throwing them away). To Hux’s absolute horror, he opened his mouth to take a bite—

“If you eat that I am never making out with you again,” Hux threatened.

Ren stared at him with big, tortured, pleading eyes. “But baby—“

“Just. Eat your breakfast,” Hux snapped through gritted teeth. “I need to prepare you for Christmas and you need your strength for it.”

It was a grueling task that lay before them, but Hux was determined to see Ren through.

Ren put down the Pop Tart (and the trash) and trudged dispiritedly to sit down at the table across from him, poking glumly at his oatmeal with a spoon.

“Excellent,” Hux beamed, then finished the cue cards with a flourish of his pen. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I have these.”

“Not really,” Kylo said, rather forlornly, still preoccupied with the oatmeal and the loss of his Pop Tarts.

Hux ignored the bit about the Pop Tarts. “It’s a set of all the questions my mother, father, or, god forbid, any other relative could ask you for the duration of your stay over Christmas.” He peeled the first card off the stack. “Let’s start easy. What’s your name?”

“Kylo Ren,” Kylo said immediately. “Alias Lord Ten—“

“Incorrect,” Hux said swiftly, before he could finish. “The correct answer is: Hello, Aunt Such-and-such. My name is Ben.”

“But it’s not Ben,” Kylo whined. “I changed it. Legally. It cost me three hundred bucks. And I still owe the official a favor.”

Hux frowned. “What kind of favour?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kylo said quickly. “What’s the, uh, next question?”

Hux peeled the next card off the deck. “How did you and Armitage start dating?”

Kylo’s face lit up. “I know this one. So it was in a Home Depot, and I’d dragged you along to look at curtains, because you care about those sort of things and would probably scream your weird math shit at me if I bought them from the dollar store, and I started asking you about all the stupid curtain rod end thingies and actually sort of gave a shit about your answers and you kept telling me I was god’s perfect idiot and had no sense of shape or movement or some shit and then it hit me: we were literally an old fucking married couple. And then you put your hand down my shorts and jerked me off in the lumber section—“

“That’s quite enough,” Hux said quickly, feeling his ears burn. The worst of it was that he _had_ jerked Ren off in the lumber section, and had then allowed himself to be escorted to a filthy bathroom stall so that Ren could suck him off. He could still smell the harsh chemicals of the treated wood at the thought. “The correct answer is: we are coworkers at the University where I work and happened to start talking during a lunch break.”

“Oh,” was all Kylo said, looking a bit put out. “I thought the Home Depot was rather nice.”

“First date,” was Hux’s only reply.

“You took me on a picnic,” Ren replied immediately. “In the off-center of buttfuck nowhere, I might add. You were a stupid bore the entire drive and got really mad when I tried to play I Spy—“

“—punching me every time you see a yellow car is not the same as I Spy, Kylo!”

“Punch-buggy is fun!” Ren protested. “Anyway once we got there you realized I was allergic to shellfish, and I realized you’d put shellfish in the soup, but by that time I was already convulsing, and—“

Hux cringed at the memory. His very sudden introduction to epi-pen use and the Floridian medical system was not something he wanted to revisit any time soon. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh I didn’t mind,” Ren said cheerfully. “You let me buy myself an entire birthday cake—one of the Costco ones, with frosting, oh god—and the apology sex was incredible. I literally had no idea you were that flexible.” He gave Hux a confounding wink. “Nearly dying of shellfish consumption is but a small price to pay for learning more about you, babe, especially if it’s in the biblical sense.”

“As...sweet...as that sentiment may be, that is not the correct answer,” Hux informed him. “The correct answer is that we had a picnic and visited a nice little pie shop. If asked, the pie shop is called _Le Madeline’s_ and you ate French chocolate silk pie and I ate raspberry crumble.” He sighed. “Besides, our _real_ first date was when you took me to Costco and ate an entire pepperoni pizza by yourself. _And_ topped it off with no less than _three_ ice creams.”

He did not mention the handjob Ren gave him in the parking lot, and he did _not_ mention how much he enjoyed it.

“I like pizza,” Ren said defensively. “And I hate raspberries.”

“That’s why you had the French Silk pie, you idiot,” Hux replied crisply, shuffling the cards. “But that pizza was probably half your calorie intake for a month.” He crossed his arms—they had to focus. “I’ll tell you about what you do for a living. You’re a respected ecologist who studies pollination efficiency in apple crops and you have a very stable income and if asked, yes, you do contribute yearly to your 401k.”

Ren stared at him. “What’s a 401k?”

“It’s not relevant to the question,” Hux said quickly, remembering the time he’d put Ren to sleep on his lap trying to explain the flaws of supply-side economics. “If anyone asks you about politics say you haven’t followed it extensively lately and nod at whatever they say, unless it’s Great Aunt Rosie, in which case I’m very sorry.”

He flipped to the next card. “Tell us a little about yourself.”

“I can deepthroat a banana.” Ren replied instantly.

Hux sighed. “Let’s continue this later.”

 

 

An hour or so later Hux found Ren on the sagging sofa jacking off lazily to some kind of children’s cartoon and drinking beer. The sight was enough to send him into a cold sweat thinking of what his father—or, god forbid, his mother—might say if they were to see.

“Ren,” he said impatiently. “Ren, it’s later.”

Ren groaned, squinting up at him. “I’m hungover.”

“That’s no excuse,” Hux told him, then propped his hands on his hips. “Ren, if you aren’t off that couch in thirty seconds I am taking all the lingerie Betty sent and burning it.”

Ren leapt from couch as if scalded. After Kylo had delivered a replacement set of Home Depot azaleas and a VHS copy of their sex tape—Hux winced internally at the thought that he had not one, but many sex tapes—they had discovered a package on their back porch. It contained a cornucopia of matching, lacy bralettes and underwear sets in all the colors of the Victoria’s Secret rainbow, as well as a beautifully hand-written note exhorting Hux to “ _stop looking at the fucking camera like he’s on The Office_ .” Ren held a deep, abiding love for Betty’s gift, and had taped the note to the fridge. Hux could only be glad he hadn’t taped the _underwear_ to the fridge as well.

“I’m ready,” Ren said, palming Hux’s arse fondly. “Prepare to be amazed, my incredibly feisty and unrepentantly ginger, slutty not-boyfriend.”

Hux was not amazed. In fact, he was so un-amazed he went all the way back to amazed again, at how un-amazed he was.

Ren could not study to save his life.

Why this surprised him he could not fathom, but the fact remained that Ren could not retain simple information. No amount of flashcards, quizlet decks, mnemonics, or promises of the fulfillment of his most deranged sexual fantasies could induce Ren to recall his cover story.

“Honestly, Ren,” Hux groaned late one night as Kylo struggled to divine whether he was a ecologist or an embryologist (not! the same thing! at all!). “How on earth did you graduate high school?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Ren said easily, helping himself to another portion of his fortified oatmeal, which, as he’d discovered recently, he enjoyed greatly. “I dropped out. Grade eleven. Best decision of my life. Hashtag, no regrets.”

Hux willed himself to wipe the spoken use of a hashtag out of his memory, then said, “ _You dropped out_?”

“Yeah,” Ren said. “I went to art school after that, but left. Creative differences, you know. They didn’t get me.”

“Get you,” Hux repeated, incredulous.

Ren waved a paw his way. “The past is the past,” he intoned, taking a gigantic spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. With a dizzy lurch Hux realized he’d put Dorito dust in it. “What about you? What was your itty bitty ass doing in high school?”

“Studying,” Hux replied tartly. “I was top of my class.”

Ren snorted loudly. “More like top _bottom._ ”

Hux flushed scarlet. “You know what I mean!”

“Yeah, yeah, kid genius, all that.” Hux could never decide if he liked Ren’s dismissive attitude towards his academic prowess or if he resented it. On the one hand, it was refreshing to finally be something to someone that wasn’t the nerd who could be bullied into doing one’s homework. On the other, he felt like something of himself was missing.

“C’mon, babe,” Ren said suddenly, pulling at his hand. “Let’s watch _Mean Girls._ You’ll love it, I just know.”

 

 

Hux tittered drunkenly, clutching a peach schnapp in his hand. “That’s...that’s so _fetch,_ ” he giggled, spilling a bit of the sweet, fizzy drink down his front.

Ren removed it gently from his grip, unable to bring himself to tell his not-boyfriend that it contained almost no alcohol whatsoever. He shouldn’t have been surprised Hux identified with Cady so much, considering they were both ginger and probably lacked everything resembling a human soul. Ren wondered if he would turn out like Lindsay Lohan and realized there was no way the stubborn bastard would ever go to rehab.

“We can skip to the end, if you want,” Ren offered.

“Absolutely _fucking not,_ ” Hux said, nuzzling into his shoulder and snaking his hand into Ren’s basketball shorts. “I like this movie.”

Hux took great joy in Regina George being hit by a bus and laughed gleefully through to the end of the film. “That was amazing,” he said once the credits rolled, pressing sloppy kisses to Kylo’s chin. “Even better than _Titanic._ ”

Ren massaged his shoulders and pulled him closer onto his lap. “You really are the most basic bitch,” he muttered, ignoring the fact that Hux took more vindictive pleasure in _Titanic_ than he did cry and moon over Leonardo DiCaprio’s youthful beauty. In fact, if Kylo was being honest, the fact that he outright _giggled_ as Jack died had worried him somewhat.

Like a ginger, twink-y Wednesday Addams. Yeah. That’s what it was.

“Yeah,” Hux breathed, his breath smelling rather strongly of peach schnapps, illuminated by the TV, rocking his hips against Kylo’s, making him groan against Hux’s lips. “But I’m _your_ basic bitch.”

Hux gave a squeal of delight as Kylo scooped him up and carried him swiftly to bed.

 

 

Kylo took the flashcards with him everywhere from then on, studying them at every opportunity. As he walked Betty’s dog, a fluffy little shit named Pom Pom that loved to shit everywhere. As he showered, stuffed in a Ziploc and clutched in one hand as he jacked off with the other. As he gingerly fished an alligator out of the communal pool—well not _as_ he did it, but he kept the cards between his teeth, so he figured that counted. As he changed the oil in his truck, a beautiful rusting old Toyota Hilux Pickup that he would gladly take with him to the grave. As he uploaded their latest video, featuring Hux in what was absolutely not a schoolgirl uniform (or so he’d told him. Luckily, Hux didn’t seem to watch much anime).

“It’s so _hard,_ ” he whined into the phone one afternoon when Hux was at work doing his science things and making money or whatever. “Why can’t he just have normal parents that default to hating whoever he dates and don’t even bother to ask questions?”

“Pah,” was all Betty said, but it was with sympathy.

“And what if I have to wear a suit? Huh? I’ve never even worn a suit. I don’t own a suit. I promised myself I’d never wear a suit. It’s a matter of principle. I’m a very principled person. About some things. Well, one thing. And that’s wearing a suit. I don’t want to be classy, next thing you know I’ll get a _day job_ or whatever it is people do. I can’t do that, Betty. I can’t let The Man win. In this case the Man is Hux. Or his parents. So they’re like the Man and the Woman. Or like the Parents. I can’t let the Parents win.”

“And what if he doesn’t even let me masturbate in the shower? I have to do that at least once a day or Lord Ten gets in a funk. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but he’s all I’ve got, you know? I owe him so much, and this is how I treat him? Denying him the one thing he asks, a quick wank one, two, five times a day? Being a not-boyfriend is doing things to me, Betty. It’s changing me. I don’t like the man I’m becoming, a man who would turn his back on his oldest pal. Bros before hoes, and all that. I mean not that Hux is a hoe—well actually he is but he’s my hoe, I guess, so what about that? How do I prioritize? How can I tell Lord Ten—Betty? Betty are you listening?”

No answer. Kylo craned his neck to glance through the window, and saw Betty fast asleep in her rocking chair, corded phone still clutched in one hand. Now that he’d stopped talking, he could faintly hear her grating, powerful snores through the line.

“ _Et tu_ , Betty?” he said mournfully, and hung up.

“I guess it’s just you and me, buddy,” he said to Lord Ten Inches, a bit sadly, then grabbed his laptop and navigated to his favorite video of him and Hux—the one and only time he’d convinced him to deepthroat him for the camera (in a nurse uniform, hurling insults in what he later learned was American Sign Language all the while)—and gave Lord Ten the most mournful, despondent wank of his entire life.

 

 

December 23rd, at the crack of dawn, Armitage Hux awoke to the screeching sound of his alarm. He jolted upright, rolling over to bludgeon Ren awake, only to discover a Ren-sized empty space in his side of the bed. Pulling on a jumper and combing his hair into some semblance of order, he pushed himself out of bed and silenced the alarm, trudging into the kitchen.

And stopped. Stared.

First, Ren was wearing a suit. Second, it wasn’t his birthday suit. Third, it was black and rather slimming and didn’t look half bad. Fourth, he was staring blankly into the kitchen table, surrounded by over ten duffel bags and suitcases and looking like an anxious child not wanting to be left behind.

“There you are,” Ren breathed, once he’d looked up to see Hux standing in the doorway. “Are you ready?”

“I haven’t even packed yet, Ren,” Hux said, silently wondering who this was and what he’d done with Hux’s not-boyfriend.

“Don’t worry,” Ren said quickly. “I’ve packed for both of us.”

“I see that,” Hux said, eyeing the profusion of baggage with amusement. “You do realize we’re only staying five days, right? What even _is_ all that?”

Ren pointed to the first bag nearest him. “Dildos,” he said, then ran through each bag in turn. “Your clothes, my clothes, shoes, my emergency stash of porn so I don’t have to use your parents’ wifi, food, more food, the travel kit my mother gave me that I haven’t touched in years so we don’t get a flat tire and get murdered by the Zodiac killer—“

“Ren,” Hux interrupted.

“—more dildos—“

“ _Ren._ ”

“—non-perishable food just in case we get stranded in a snowstorm or mauled by a bear and have to kill Bigfoot and climb inside them for warmth—“

“Okay, first off, we’re going to Virginia, not northern Canada,” Hux said. “No snowstorms. Also, neither of us is going to get mauled by a bear, or killed by the Zodiac—he killed in _California,_ for god’s sake. And third, there is absolutely no need for that many dildos. At _all_.”

“You can’t have enough dildos,” Ren replied quickly, and sounded almost reasonable for a man who was clearly on the edge of a mental breakdown. “Or tuna fish. I packed about a hundred-fifty cans, do you think that would last a snowstorm—?”

“ _Ren!”_ Hux exclaimed, and Ren jerked to attention, looking stricken. “Are you… are you okay to do this? You don’t have to. My parents have survived thirty-four years without meeting my not-boyfriend, I think they can survive one more.”

“I’m fine!” Ren replied. “I’m all fine here, thank you, all fine now. How about you?”

Hux sighed weakly. “Why don’t you start packing the… dildos… into the car while I get dressed?”

Kylo had never lurched into compliance that quickly in his life.

 

 

They’d only been in the car about an hour and fifteen minutes when Ren let out a groan, smacking his forehead with his hand. “Damn it! I _knew_ I forgot something!”

“What is it? Ren, if you forgot the gift bag, I will pull over this car and eviscerate you.”

“No, no, not the gift bag,” Ren said quickly. “The beer.”

“Kylo, we are going to be there a week and a half. I think you can live a week and a half without beer.”

“You don’t understand,” Ren groaned. “I get carsick. Really carsick.”

Hux frowned, willing himself to stay calm, gripping the wheel more tightly. “And beer helps how, exactly?”

Ren shrugged. “I don’t know how, but my Dad always gave me beer on car trips whenever I got sick. It did the trick. I remember we drove from Alaska to Georgia once when I was seven and—“

“Your dad gave you beer when you were _seven_ ? On a _roadtrip_?”

“Oh yeah,” Kylo said. “I probably had an entire six pack. I wasn’t even hungover when we got there. Dad was always pretty loose with that stuff. And Mom was always great about sharing the weed—“

“ _Pardon_? I thought you said your mother was a politician.”

“Oh yeah, she is. She’s Canadian, too. It’s adorable. When she gets really mad her accent comes out and she’s like _aboot_ and if you laugh she’ll take a fucking swing at you and lemme tell you, she hits like a _moose._ ” He laughed goofily at his own joke. “Seriously, mooses—moosen? Meese? Mooseses?—weigh like a fucking ton. They can take out a truck. So like imagine that, but in the body of a deceptively sweet-looking five-four woman who can’t bake for shit but can debate your itty bitty asscheeks off your body. That’s Leia.”

He smiled fondly.

Hux smiled, a bit self-conscious. He certainly had no comparatively praiseworthy or colorful descriptors for his mother. If anything by comparison it seemed he hardly knew her. He knew she liked baths and took them much too hot for the human body to weather intact, and drank Earl Grey and put a tiny slip of liquor in her morning coffee when his father wasn’t looking, but that was it. He certainly didn’t have a powerful animal to compare her to.

“I’m sorry, I’m blathering,” Ren said. “Can I turn on the radio? Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a pumpkin on top—“

“It’s with a _cherry_ on top, not a pumpkin,” Hux corrected idly, making no move to turn on the radio. “Besides, I’m driving, so I choose the music. And I chose Vivaldi.”

Ren gave a long, theatrical groan and slumped in his seat so that his knees were practically under his chin. “You’re like a fucking grandma. No, I take that back. Betty would never listen to that crap. You’re like, fucking dead or something.”

“Thank you, Ren,” Hux snapped. “Well, if I’m _dead,_ then we won’t be having sex any time soon, will we?”

Ren grinned up at him with bright teeth. “Maybe I’m into—“

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Unsurprisingly, he did. Within the next few hours they had to pull over for Ren to vomit. At the next gas station they pulled into the dingy parking lot and Hux bought him an entire 24-pack. He was ID’d. Twice.

“Thanks babe,” Ren said, a bit weakly, and downed two beers in approximately ten seconds flat.

 

 

“Armitage, darling,” his mother exclaimed as soon as the car door was open. “We’re so glad you could make it. You look so famished. Have you eaten?”

“We have,” Hux said, and was cut off as she circled her arms around him and began to squeeze all the structural integrity out of his ribcage. It was true—they’d eaten at what was possibly the sketchiest Schlotzsky’s in the state, where the slouchy-looking guy at the register had recognized Lord Ten Inches and had leered rather uncomfortably at Hux the entire time. Kylo gave him his autograph on a paper napkin and the boy had beamed.

They did get free sandwiches out of it, though.

“Nonsense,” his mother said. “We just finished, we saved some for you and your....” here she trailed off, looking uncertainly to Ren, where he was struggling to unfold himself from Hux’s tiny car.

“Ben,” he said, extending one hand and shaking hers like a normal human being. “So lovely to meet you, Mrs. Hux. Your son has told me so much about you.”

“Maratelle, please,” Hux’s mother said, with a warm, beaming smile. “The stories have been all good, I hope?”

“He says you and your husband make an excellent mincemeat pie,” Kylo said, with a polite, earnest smile in return. He looked so utterly unlike himself, the perfect sweet, slightly awkward boyfriend out of a Hallmark Christmas movie, not like the man who, not three hours prior, had blared Metallica on his phone in a beer mug and sprayed Cheese Whiz directly into his mouth.

Also, he hadn’t told Kylo about the mincemeat pie.

“Oh, darling,” Hux’s mother said. She was very proud of her mincemeat pie. “You’ll love it. Bren and I are making it for Christmas, aren’t we, dear?”

Brendol Hux shuffled into view, hands in his pockets and only a twinkle in his eye showing his pleasure at their presence. “Hullo, son.”

“Hullo, Dad.”

Kylo extended his hand and Hux’s father shook it, almost perfunctorily. Hux’s father gave him a vague sort of smile and shuffled back towards the house, where his latest John Grisham novel and tea were no doubt waiting.

“It was so good of you to come this year, dear,” Hux’s mother said, squeezing his hand. “We’re so glad to meet Ben. Brenny, don’t toddle off yet, help with their things. How did you two meet, sweetie?”

Hux opened his mouth but before he could say anything Kylo put a hand on his shoulder and said, “We work together at the University. Different departments—Biology, Physics—but we got talking once lunch period and… well.” He cast a bashful look at his feet and his mother’s eyes shone with adoration.

“That’s lovely, darling,” she said, and kissed Hux on the cheek. “Now look at me, blathering on when you’re so tired after your drive. Brenny, get their suitcases, will you?”

“Oh no that’s quite alright,” Kylo said quickly, nearly leaping across the driveway to grab the tuna fish/dildo case from Hux’s father’s hands. “I’ll get it. It’s no problem, really. I, uh, I lift.”

“Darling,” Hux’s mother said again, tugging Hux towards the door, and Hux’s father didn’t protest. The house was cozy and warmly lit and smelled overwhelmingly of home, making his eyes momentarily water and sting.

“Merry Christmas, Mum,” he said, and felt very embarrassed as he returned her hug a little more tightly than he would normally.

 

 

Hux was a tad embarrassed to find that not only had his parents preserved his room, they had also taped a small _Welcome Home!_ note to the door complete with a heart and a sticker of a teddy bear. Hux ripped it off the door and stuffed it into his pocket before Ren could see, feeling his cheeks go quite warm.

“Babe? A little help here?”

Ren stood in the stairwell with the tuna/dildo case in his arms, looking very distressed. Inspection revealed that it was stuck between the rails. Hux gave it a savage push, nearly sending Ren toppling backwards down the stairs, then helped him drag the monstrosity up to the room and bustled Ren inside and shut the door.

“Oh thank god,” Ren gasped, then flopped face first onto Hux’s bed, making it creak dangerously as if about to collapse. His huge frame dwarfed the twin mattress comically and reminded Hux bizarrely of spooning.

“Budge over, or I’m knocking you off and using you as an air mattress,” Hux said, jabbing a sharp elbow into Ren’s side.

“Ow,” Ren muttered, but wriggled over so Hux could lie down uncomfortably beside him.

“There’s only one bed,” Hux observed, once he’d settled down next to Ren’s space-heater weight.

“Bed? More like only one matchbox,” Ren grumbled. “There’s no way we could fuck without breaking it, and not in the sexy way.” His gaze alighted on Hux’s multitude of childhood science fair awards and he chuckled. “Jesus god you must have gotten stuffed into so many lockers.”

“Only two,” Hux snapped, and elected not to tell him about the closets. That was too metaphorical for his comfort. “And how many empty classrooms were you caught fucking in?”

Ren gasped, rolling over and somehow managing not to crush Hux under his weight in the process. “Babe, how did you know?”

“I’m telepathic,” Hux said smugly.

“I bet you are,” Ren grinned, bumping his nose affectionately against Hux’s. “What am I thinking about now, babe?”

“How well my arse fits into your palms.”

“Mmm,” Ren said, and grabbed the aforementioned arse through Hux’s slacks, stealing Hux’s breath quite away. “Yeah, I do think about that a lot.”

Hux hooked his leg around the back of Ren’s knees and hissed appreciatively as one muscular thigh pressed between his legs. One large hand slipped up under his jumper and Hux yelped as Ren snapped his bralette (bubblegum pink, his favorite) against his back. Ren giggled, impressively high-pitched for someone with such a low register.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry, babe,” he said, and pressed his lips to Hux’s for a big, wet kiss, letting Hux grind himself against the top of his thigh. “How do your parents feel about shower sex? I promise I won’t let you get too loud. You really do have the sluttiest fucking mouth—”

Hux grabbed at Ren’s collar and tore clumsily but enthusiastically at the buttons, fishing out the condom and packet of lube he knew Ren kept in his back pocket and trying not to groan aloud as Ren unzipped his slacks and pulled them down to better palm Hux’s arse.

“I’ll be damned if I wait for the fucking shower,” Hux said and didn’t protest as Ren rolled him onto his back, settling his own weight against Hux’s hips and pressing his heavy torso around Hux’s own. Hux moaned as quietly as he could and curled his thighs around Ren’s waist, absurdly aware he was still wearing socks.

“I can’t believe I’m doing missionary again,” Ren panted as he fumbled to free himself from his suit slacks and pull on one of his (glow in the dark, coconut flavored, extra large) condoms. “It’s so fucking vanilla I might as well fuck an ice cream cone.”

Hux, who happened to quite like missionary, scowled. “Shut up and use your dick, or you _will_ have to fuck an ice cream cone.”

“What if I like fucking ice cream cones?” Ren demanded, pulling out Hux’s plug with a soft, slick sound. “Would my come taste like ice cream after that?”

“Of course not, you idiot!” Hux snapped, then bit into his lip to keep from crying out loud as Ren’s fingers jammed up into his prepared hole, a pick-me-up in a Florida rest stop after Hux complained of getting drowsy at the wheel. It certainly had woken him up, at any rate. “Semen is produced in the seminiferous tubules, do you know even basic anatomy—?”

“I can make you come even if I don’t know the names, babe,” Ren rumbled. “Unless you’re into that shit. I can see you having a medical kink. Or like, a science kink. If I say science shit while I fuck you will you come harder? Or do you scream Einstein’s name or something? Oooh, ooh, Albert, that’s so fucking hot, E equals mc squared!”

Hux whimpered in sudden arousal and flushed what must have been a magnificent scarlet, and hastily assured himself Ren had just brushed his prostate. Or something.

“You don’t even know what that means!” Hux snarled, then broke off with a tortured, greedy moan as Ren eased himself in, inch after precious inch. “It means,” he gasped, as Ren rolled his hips just slightly and sent a wave of pure pleasure up his spine, “the photoelectric energy of a light wave— _fucking hell_ —hitting a cathode metal is equal to the mass of an electron— _fuck_ —times the _fuck_ speed of light squared and it _jeezus fuck_ has implications for many fields of _Christ on a pony_ including but not limited to—“

“I’m going to fuck your mouth just to shut you up,” Ren growled, and Hux couldn’t possibly imagine why that would be a deterrent. Well, unless he dislocated his jaw again. Being keen had always been one of his strong points. “My life is not going to turn into a science porno if I can help it.”

“Your life already is a porno,” Hux gasped, clawing rather desperately at the broad shoulders of Ren’s suitcoat. “I’m just making it more— _scientific_ —”

Ren opted not to get the last word and instead thrust into him with vigour. Hux gasped and the bed gave a loud, rusty squeak. The squeaks increased in pitch, amplitude, and frequency as Ren fucked him, drowning out his loudening moans; heat and desperation pressurized inside him until he couldn’t contain his moaning, clawing at the sheets (baby blue with cartoon airplanes, which his parents bought for him when he was sixteen) and arching against Ren’s sweat-slicked chest.

“God,” he managed to choke out before Ren ducked his head and yanked up his jumper and bralette to swirl his hot tongue around Hux’s exposed nipple. Hux’s thoughts collided in an ungodly trainwreck before being blasted away entirely as his hips and shoulders jerked, his back arching against Ren’s weight. His vision whited out for just a second and he was firmly convinced he was going to die—

Ren came with a gasp and flopped on Hux’s chest, nearly crushing him. Hux protested weakly, still in the hazy aftershocks of orgasm, but allowed himself to be suffocated. Ren shifted onto his side before his ribs caved in entirely and wrapped Hux into a full-body hug, as if he were a teddy bear. Hux felt warm, content, almost. Well, as content as he’d ever been when smothered by a sweaty man twice his mass.

Ren’s warm hand rubbed at his lower back, palming his arse idly and making Hux feel very undignified with his pants and trousers around his knees and his jumper pulled up to his chin. But, he had to admit, in a very sexy way.

“You screamed Einstein’s name when you came,” Ren informed him, very seriously.

“Fuck off,” Hux snarled, and yanked his jumper down over his bare arse before Ren could ruin his afterglow further.

Ren watched his angry not-boyfriend attempt to get off the tiny bed with fond amusement. His legs were shaky as a newborn deer’s but like the particularly dumb and stubborn animals deer were he kept trying anyway. It was only when Hux whirled around, red-faced with fresh fury that Ren realized he may have spoken his thoughts aloud. Before he could angle for an angry blowjob—or defend himself from being hit with a pillow or a stuffed animal—the doorbell rang.

Hux lurched off the bed with the strength of focused rage and struggled into his rather tight pants that advertised his tiny little ass unfairly well, then combed down his wild hair and righted his prissy little sweater and dress shirt over his cute little bralette, back to being the perfect, normal (if twinky) son.

“Stay there,” he threatened, then yanked open the door and pulled it shut with a thunderous _bang._

 

 

Ren pulled off the condom and gave Lord Ten a few gentle, fond pulls, then wiped him off with one of Hux’s ugliest sweaters, the one with slightly demonic cats knitted into it. Ren had tried to burn it in the night but Betty had snooped him out and had threatened to break his kneecaps with her cane if the accursed sweater came to any harm. He had to walk Pom Pom for almost a week before she stopped waving her cane threateningly every time he came by her watch on the porch.

It occurred to him that if he and Hux ever not-broke up (since they were only not-dating to begin with), she’d probably mobilize the entire knitting club against him. He’d have to move to Minnesota and change his name to something local, like Peter Peterson or John Johnson.

He pushed the thought of a not-breakup away and wandered through the room, batting at the model airplanes hanging from the ceiling and staring at the weird-ass rubik’s cubes that were all sorts of weird shapes other than squares along with some posters of what he vaguely recognized as an atom, or something. He half expected to find an Albert Einstein pinup in his closet but instead found more of Hux’s stringbean clothes (expandable waist jeans, oversized polos, and sandals that Ren dreaded to think he may have worn with socks) that made him wince and decide that he was _definitely_ lying about the number of lockers he was shoved into in high school.

After a while he tired of being nosy and stared out the window for a while, watching asshole children shoot slingshots at squirrels, who were probably assholes too. The sun was setting rapidly and it was stupidly cold, even in the house, and Hux still wasn’t back, and his phone kept vibrating, and not in the fun way. Rey had been texting him non-stop about something since the morning and he’d be damned if he would start answering now just because he had nothing better to do.

When Hux finally returned he was on his seventh can of tuna and was listening to the collected works of Britney Spears—fuck the Beatles, Britney understood him.

“That was Aunt Rosie,” Hux sighed, looking more frazzled than ever. “She’s my father’s sister and she’s… well she’s… well if you break down and strangle her before I do I’ll tell the police she choked on her chicken.”

Ren turned off Britney reluctantly and finished off the last of his tuna. “Don’t worry, babe,” he said fondly, giving Hux’s ass a little pat. “I’ll get you through this.”

 

 

“Armitage!” Rosie barked as soon as he and Ren entered the room. He let go of Ren’s hand, instinctively, and jumped to cover Ren’s bulk with his own body, as if he might somehow hide him. How had he thought bringing Ren here was a good idea—his cousins— _Rosie—_ “Where are your manners, boy? Introduce your friend to your family.”

Friend. Oh. Right. _Rosie._ “This is Ben, Aunt Rosie,” he said, and Ren offered her a charming, if slightly goofy, smile. “He’s actually my—my—“ here he faltered, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel Ren’s gaze on him and the slightly uncomfortable faces of his distant uncles and— “my colleague,” he finished, and his voice cracked.

Rosie harrumphed and Hux did not dare look at Ren’s face. Preparing for dinner passed with torturous slowness and Ren charmed his mother by insisting upon them both helping her in the kitchen.

“He’s such a sweet boy,” his mother said confidentially as Hux took his nerves out on a bowl of eggs, whisking them far more brutally than necessary.

Hux did not trust himself to reply. In the living room, Rosie was shouting at one of his uncles for spilling egg nog on his shirt and occasionally dropping snide comments about his mother’s choice of décor. His father was preparing appetizers silently, already on his third glass of wine.

“She’s breathtaking,” Ren breathed in his ear as Rosie opined loudly on the “moral degeneracy” of America. “Have you considered donating her to a museum? Or getting a taxidermy?”

Hux smiled, despite himself. “We tried the Smithsonian. They couldn’t carbon date her. She bites.”

“Really?” Ren grinned. “So do you. Maybe it’s inherited.”

“My biting is more fun.”

Dinner, shockingly, went more smoothly, as Rosie nodded off after Maratelle spiked her eggnog a little more heavily than everyone else’s. Ren offered engaging but stunningly non-disasterous commentary on a variety of issues, including the stock market.  Hux knew for a fact he had no idea what it was, but he managed to offer such confident yet vague commentary that Uncle Harold was pressing him for tips by the end of the evening. His mother managed to bundle Rosie off with Harold and Petunia on the promise that his father would share his coveted peach cobbler recipe. Hux even managed not to orgasm in front of his entire family as Ren worked his hand up Hux’s thigh over the course of the entire evening, but it was a close thing. He could only imagine what Rosie would say if he’d collapsed into his pie screaming Ren or Albert Einstein’s name.

He did, however, have to wrestle Ren up to his room rather urgently once everyone had been successfully shuttled out the door.

Being fucked over a desk full of years-old calculus homework proved to be just as intense and fulfilling as he had expected, even if he was _definitely_ going to be walking gingerly for the next few days.

 

 

“That was nice,” he sighed, after he and Ren had showered (together, with only the barest pretense of doing it separately).

“What? Desk-fucking, shower almost-fucking, or just the general pleasure being fucked by Lord Ten Inches?”

Hux rolled his eyes hard enough that he was briefly, illogically concerned they might stick that way as his mother always told him. “I meant dinner. The evening. You’re good with them. My family, I mean.”

Ren laughed, looking quite pleased with himself. “They bought it hook, line, sinker, and even the whole fucking fishing pole. Admit it. I’m the best not-boyfriend money can occasionally buy.”

“Well, that’s what I mean,” Hux said, a bit nervously. He wasn’t used to conversations with Ren that weren’t mostly vitriolic insults, and the last one he could remember was last month when Ren was trying to sweet-talk him into giving him the remote in exchange for a blow job. And even then Hux had called him the “Conrad Morris to his Stephen J. Gould,” even if the expression of Ren’s banefulness had entirely gone over his head. “Ben _is_ a good boyfriend. _You’re_ a good boyfriend, when you try.”

“ ‘ _Ben’_ is the straightest, most idiotic, boring asshole I’ve ever met,” Ren said, a bit snappishly. “Like if he was real he would probably masturbate to fucking Disney movies.”

“ _You_ masturbate to Disney movies!”

“That was once! _Once!_ ”

“You’re avoiding the point,” Hux snapped, his years of debate club skills coming to the fore. “ ‘Ben,’ for lack of a better representation, is you, if you actually valued hygiene, grooming, manners, or having a real job.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Hux knew he’d gone too far. Ren’s mouth opened, then closed. For a fraction of a second Hux thought he saw a flash of anger in Ren’s dark eyes, but then it was gone.

“Ren—“ he began.

“Asshole,” Ren grumbled, and pulled on the only pair of pajamas he owned, a pair of Darth Vader pajama bottoms that were rather scandalously short and a worn “IT’S BRITNEY, BITCH” t-shirt he’d probably take with him to the grave.

“Says the man who couldn’t remember that my PhD is in _physics,_ not astrology _,_ ” Hux replied. He was still more upset about that than he cared to admit. (Astrology. Astrology!).

Ren mumbled something unintelligible, then clambered into Hux’s mother’s lumpy (but huge) sleeping bag and zipped it up all the way over his head.

 

 

When Hux woke the next morning, he had slept through three of his alarms and kicked off all of his blankets in his sleep. Blearily, he reached over to smack Ren awake, then remembered with a vaguely sinking feeling that he wasn’t there. Scowling to himself, he dragged himself out of bed and went to put on clothes and wash his face. Ren, of course, would still be asleep, and it would be an Olympic task just to get him awake in time for Christmas breakfast.

He felt positively sick by the time he’d reached the bathroom and he stewed silently as he brushed his teeth. He hadn’t been wrong. Ren didn’t have a real job. His manners were awful. He was gross and disgusting and would probably live in a literal oversized garbage can were it not for Hux’s influence. His behavior in front of Hux’s parents had been, by contrast, exemplary. Ben was polite, thoughtful, and overall just… normal. There was no reason for the ridiculous asshole manchild to be upset with him. Ren could face the truth, just like everyone else.

Armed with the assurance of his vindication, Hux marched back into his bedroom, ready to kick, slap, shout or otherwise rouse Ren from his slumber, only to find an empty sleeping bag.

Hux about-faced promptly and sprinted downstairs. If Ren was having his morning wank _in his parents’ kitchen_ he was going to decapitate the man on the spot, ten inch dick notwithstanding. He figured he could always get it taxidermied, or something.

“Honey?” Hux’s mother called, subtly pushing her toddy of vodka into the cabinet, “are you looking for something?”

“Ren. I mean, Ben,” Hux said, rather out of breath. “Have you seen him?”

His mother frowned. “No, dearie. Have you checked the bathroom? Maybe he got locked in.”

Ren locking himself in the bathroom would have made many things much, much easier. Hux swallowed over the sudden anxiety fluttering in his chest. “I don’t think so,” he said, as flatly as he could. He fished around in his pockets for his phone to check his messages but it was dead. “Can I borrow the computer?”

“Of course, darling. It’s upstairs on the couch. You know the password.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he said quickly, then ran back upstairs, heart pounding in his chest. Ren wouldn’t do something that dramatic over a stupid argument, would he? Hux had called him much worse. He could think of at least ten things off the top of his head that he had said to Ren that were probably more offensive than that, such as telling him that sex with him was like the shower scene in _Alien: Covenant_ . To be frank, sometimes the whole ten inches _did_ feel like a chestburster—

“Hullo, son,” Brendol said, shuffling out of his parents’ bedroom and into his bathroom (separate from Hux’s mother’s bathroom, as to her dismay Brendol owned a bewildering array of Lush bath products and valued a good, hot bubble bath).

“Hullo, dad,” Hux replied, then flipped open his parents’ macbook from around 2003 and typed in the password, which was “sweetums1983” for the year of his birth.

Awful moaning blasted the speakers and Hux slammed his entire hand into the mute button, willing himself to split into particle matter on the spot. Fairly fluorescent with embarrassment, he navigated slowly through the hundreds upon hundreds of tabs (all with ads, as they _still_ hadn’t installed adblock despite his best efforts).

“Was that porn?” Brendol asked, in the same mild tones that one might inquire, “is that marmalade?”

“Jeezus, Dad—! Yes, yes that was porn but—it’s not my porn it was already—“

A familiar constellation of moles caught his eye and Hux froze, his entire body going cold and motionless. Even his atoms stopped moving entirely and his temperature dropped to an impossible 0 degrees Kelvin. Hux forgot how to breathe and instead let out a ghastly croak.

The video was still playing—in impressive streaming quality for wifi, he noted absently—as someone who looked terrifyingly like Kylo thrust into a balding, middle-aged man with “GOD, MOM, AND GATORS” tattooed on his back.

“Oh god,” he whispered. It was Kylo. It was xxxlordtenxxx.net.

It meant he had approximately three minutes to pack his things and set up a new identity in Iceland.

Brendol shifted on his slippered feet, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Uh, listen here, son,” he began.

“Don’t,” Hux managed to croak. He wouldn’t manage to arrange a new identity in Iceland, or anywhere else for that matter. Death was the only option. He would embrace Death with open arms. He was very glad he’d played enough Sims 4 to know this was even an option.

“What’s the matter, Brenny?” Hux’s mother called as she mounted the stairs, and Armitage Hux, age 34, loosed a prayer to the _USS Enterprise_ to beam him up that very instant. He wasn’t particular where he ended up, or if he even managed to end up anywhere at all—being blasted into electron scatter currently seemed sweet and merciful.

Brendol eyed his wife bashfully, and for a moment hope peaked in Hux’s chest that his mother might not know. Then his mother’s expression fell slightly and all hope was dashed forever.

“Oh, honey, you mustn't be angry with us, we didn’t know,” his mother said, putting her hand on Brendol’s arm. “We always used the videos to… you know. Spice things up a bit. In the bedroom,” she added, as if for clarification.

“Mum,” Hux said.

“We only watched the ones with people our age on,” Brendol continued, and Maratelle looked away rather guiltily, scratching idly at her graying temple.

“Mara,” he exclaimed, faintly scandalized. “You promised!”

“You mustn’t think poorly of us darling, we had no idea,” Hux’s mother said, neatly sidestepping her husband’s disapproval. “You can imagine the shock your father and I had when you and he arrived—Brenny nearly fainted dead away, poor lamb—but you have no idea how relieved we were that the tattoos were fake.”

“It’s quite the topic of contention, you know,” Brendol put in. “On the forums. Your mother and I will be quite vindicated when it finally becomes known.”

“He’s very sweet,” his mother added. “I mean...for a porn star.”

“Amateur porn star,” Hux corrected automatically. Then, with every word feeling like a crushing weight, he added, “Have you watched ours? The, um, videos, I mean?”

“Yours...?” Brendol said, in faint dismay.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” Maratelle said, patting Brendol’s arm. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hux chose very fervently to believe this was true. “So you just went along with… Ben… to make me feel better?”

Both his parents nodded. “It was rather strange, but he’s a very nice young man,” his mother said. “We were very surprised.”

“He’s not like that,” Hux said quickly. “He’s insufferable. He’s loud and ridiculous and he smells and he says the most idiotic things and he doesn’t know the difference between physics and astrology and he said Kirk was better than Picard—“

His parents exchanged gasps and shocked looks; Brendol clutched at his wife’s arm.

“— _and_ his favorite movie is _Alien vs Predator,_ ” Hux finished triumphantly. “Also, he tried to eat your potpourripopery.”

“Well, it was very sweet of him to pretend,” Hux’s mother said. “But _Alien vs Predator…_ that’s very bad, sweetie.” She took a sip of her morning coffee. “Is it true that he wrestled an alligator?”

“Yes,” Hux said, a bit deflated.

“Very impressive,” Brendol said.

“Speaking of which, darling, where is he? I suppose he should know as well. And maybe we should re-watch the Next Generation when he’s around, maybe he’ll change his mind.”

Hux’s chest tightened and he looked back to the laptop, where a somewhat pixilated Ren was fucking Hux’s own likeness so hard he might have felt a twinge. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hux’s mother said, and put a hand on his arm.

“He doesn’t deserve you anyway, son,” Brendol assured him.

“Though he was very nice, and he had six portions of the mincemeat pie,” Maratelle said. “And he helped with dinner and he kept Uncle Harold from flirting with Maisie the neighbor and even did some of the dishes and complimented your father’s Precious Moments collection—“

“—and I’m sure he too would value a good Lush product,” Brendol added. “Hair like that doesn’t come out of an Old Spice bottle.”

Ren used an unholy concoction of Old Spice and Axe body spray, but his father didn’t have to know that.

“Well,” Hux said miserably, “He’s gone. I pissed him off and he must have left in the night. I’m going to die alone.”

“Oh, darling,” his mother said, sympathetically. “You won’t die alone, what about Millie?”

Hux sighed. “Correction. I will die alone with my _taxidermied cat._ ”

“I always knew having her preserved would be a good idea,” Brendol said sensibly.

“Why don’t you send him an email, honey?” Maratelle asked. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for it. Maybe he had a midnight craving. He is a growing young man, after all.”

“He’s nearly thirty, the only growing he’s doing is becoming a greater pain in the ass,” Hux replied tonelessly, in his misery forgetting to remind his parents no one used email for personal communication anymore. Yet logged onto his gmail account and typed Ren’s email, lordten@xxxlordtenxxx.net, into the address bar. He wrote:

> _Where the fuck are you, Ren?_

and hit send.

“Make sure you tell him how much he means to you,” his mother said. “Maybe appeal to all the good times you’ve had together.”

Hux sent a second email which read,

> _Also I hate your very intestinal tract and I hope you choke on your own stupid dick. It’s certainly big enough._

“And maybe remind him of some of your own better traits too,” Brendol added thoughtfully.

> _If you think you’re going to find someone else who will feed you Lunchables in bed you are dead fucking wrong, I can assure you that no one else in the entire multiverse would do that. Ever._

“Oh, and tell him how much you miss him!” his mother exclaimed.

> _I won’t fucking miss you and this is the last email I’m going to send you, I hope it was worth it and you die alone, too._

“That should do it,” Brendol said, and patted Hux’s shoulder. “Chin up, son. He’ll come around soon.”

 

 

Later that afternoon Hux was lying in bed in his oldest (airplane themed) pajamas and watching _Gilmore Girls_ on Netflix. His mother had given him a large mug of what he could only assume was hot chocolate spiked with vodka and Brendol had driven to the only store in the city open expressly to buy him ice cream and jelly babies, which he was absolutely not stuffing into his face, and he hadn’t cried once. Mr. Mittens, his favorite stuffed animal, was cradled under his arm.

All in all, he was already over Ren and had moved on with his life.

FaceTime pinged with a notification and he flipped off the screen and clicked it away, taking another massive spoon full of ice cream—strawberry birthday cake, his favorite. FaceTime pinged again and, enraged, Hux opened the call to scream at his boss through a mouthful of ice cream for FaceTiming him _on Christmas eve_ only to find himself face to face with exactly the person he was trying not to think about.

Ren looked tired, and his dark hair was a bit greasy, but he looked really good. Like, really really good. Hux thought about his abs and his rippling pectorals—they actually _rippled—_ and felt himself tear up again.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“What?” Ren said, his voice rumbling richly through Hux’s headphones and going straight to his dick. “Listen, babe, I’m sorry I left last night but Leia texted me like a bazillion fucking times and well, um, my dad’s sort of um, dying, like of cancer I didn’t murder him or anything, and it took a turn for the worse and I just sort of panicked, you’re usually like, 75% of my impulse control and you were asleep so I took the truck and—“

“Wait, your father’s dying of cancer?” Hux said.

Ren blinked, shifting closer to the camera. “Yeah, I just said that. Why else would I leave in the middle of the night?”

Hux hugged Mr. Mittens closer to his chest. “I thought you dumped me.”

“Dumped you?” Ren laughed, deep and rich. His smile was goofy and lopsided and brought tears to Hux’s eyes. How much vodka _had_ his mother put in his hot chocolate, anyway—? “Why would I dump you? Who else would feed me Lunchables in bed?”

“Exactly!” Hux shouted. A pang of guilt occurred to him and he rubbed at his mouth. “Maybe uh, don’t check your email. Like, ever again. In fact it might be best if you deleted the entire account, and maybe wiped your hard drive—“

Ren frowned and his face was lit up by the screen of his phone, which had seen more parts of Hux’s anatomy than he himself had. “Babe, why did you send me ten emails? And—Jesus fuck—fifty texts. Did I worry you?”

“Yeah, worried,” Hux said quickly. “Best to just delete them.”

Ren apparently knew him much, much better than that and began to open them. Hux closed his eyes and waited. If Ren hadn’t dumped him before, he was certainly going to dump him now.

Ren laughed again, looking oddly delighted for someone who had just received about six poorly-spelled quotations of Bon Jovi lyrics intermingled with vague and somewhat anatomically impossible death threats. “Babe—you’re so fucking cute when you’re angry, I just—I wanna boop your fucking nose.”

“Well, you can’t,” Hux informed him haughtily.

“Because I’m eight hundred miles away?”

“No,” Hux replied. “Because I’d bite your finger off. My nose is fucking un-boop-able.”

“Okay, no nose booping,” Ren conceded. He was silent a moment, probably considering the profusion of semi-drunken hate mail he’d just received. “Listen, babe, it’s been a rough day and could you maybe… uh, you know...”

“Absolutely,” Hux said and tossed Mr. Mittens onto the keyboard and pulled off one of the many “Kiss me, I’m ginger!” t-shirts Ren had bought him after St. Patrick’s day (Hux’s least favorite holiday, by far). “Which dildo do you want me to use? You brought all of them.”

“I was, uh, gonna ask you to tell me about your day but uh, dildo works too,” Ren said, shifting the computer on his lap, ostensibly to pull out his dick. “Fuck, if I get come on her keyboard Leia will throw me into the trash compactor.”

Hux pulled down his pajama pants and kicked them off, then had some bizarre idea about preserving his modesty and clutched poor Mr. Mittens between his legs.

“Babe, are you cockblocking me with a fucking stuffed rabbit?”

“His name is Mr. Mittens, and he’s a hare,” Hux snapped, making no move to remove Mr. Mittens from his current position. “And you didn’t answer my question about the dildo.”

“Well,” Ren said, with an absolutely shameless grin Hux just _knew_ spelled utter disaster, “maybe you should open one of your Christmas presents early. It’s in the gift case, with the Darth Vader wrapping paper.”

The indicated box was long and narrow and Hux knew exactly what it was without even opening it. “Ren, did you buy me _another_ dildo for Christmas?”

“It’s a very special dildo,” Ren said, looking far too pleased with himself. “Open it.”

With another rather put-upon eye-roll, Hux did. It was rather large and heavy, and somehow a bit familiar, but otherwise nondescript. It didn’t seem to, upon inspection, do anything all that special.

Ren grinned at him. “Recognize it, babe?”

Hux blinked. Stared. _No_. He couldn’t have. Even he wouldn’t.

“ _Ren_.”

“Your very own replica of Lord Ten Inches,” Ren told him proudly. “I’m trying it out sometime, just so you know. But I thought you’d love to be able to have my dick in your itty bitty ass any time you wanted.”

Hux scowled, holding the replica of Ren’s dick rather uncertainly in his hands. If Ren hadn’t been on the camera he would have leapt straight for the lube, but he had decorum and his pride to think of. “That’s very kind of you, Ren.”

Ren gave him his highest wattage, most annoying smile. “Well come on, babe. If you keep that stupid rabbit—hare, whatever—between your legs I’m gonna have to start paying you.”

Hux flushed and deepened his scowl. “If you don’t start acting more grateful, I will start charging,” he snapped, and made very tastefully for the lube. It was in a truly enormous container hidden in a duffel bag and strained all his non-existent musculature to lift it onto the bed. With effort he squeezed a generous portion onto his hand and rubbed it around to make it less cold and gelatinous, then grit his teeth and began to rub it over Ren’s dildo-cock-replica trying to be _very_ thorough. A glob fell onto Mr. Mittens’ ear and he hissed out an apology.

Trying not to look too eager, and probably failing, Hux struggled out of his boxers and held the ridiculously large replica between his knees. Then, propping himself up, he inserted two slicked fingers into himself, hissing between his teeth in discomfort and pleasure. This twisted his wrist at an awkward angle and he bit at his bottom lip in concentration as he worked himself open, trying not to make any loud _slurping_ or _grunting_ that might alert his mother or father to his misdeeds.

“Well?” he snapped, a bit self-consciously. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Ren grinned. “I will when you start doing something. All I’m seeing right now is a rabbit and orange fucking pubes. C’mon babe, I taught you better than this, didn’t I?”

Oh, so that’s how it was.

“I bet I can last longer than you,” Hux challenged.

The gauntlet was thrown. Ren’s dark eyes narrowed immediately. “Bullshit.”

“It’s not,” Hux said, nudging the mostly-empty ice cream carton further out of range of the camera. “In fact, I can last longer than you wanking off _and_ with this frankly ludicrous thing in my ass.”

There was absolutely no way someone like Ren could ever let such a slight to his… honor go. “There’s no way,” he insisted. “You’re so fucking slutty you couldn’t hold yourself back even if I told you to. I bet you could get off to that stupid rabbit—hare—if you tried hard enough.”

Hux frowned. “What?”

“I’ve been awake for 22 hours,” Ren said, as if that explained everything. “Fine. I’ll jack off here and you’ll use the dildo and jack off, and the loser sucks off the winner.”

Hux nodded. He had absolutely no plans on losing. If life—and academia—had taught him anything, it was to play dirty, and to always cite his references. In this case, playing dirty was rather literal. “You start and I’ll put this silly thing in.”

Ren complied without argument, one pixelated hand dropping from the camera’s view. The sound of a buckle clanking, a bit of muttering, and then a blurry hand was visible pumping at a respectable rate.

“Well go on, babe,” Ren growled, and there was something deep and possessive in his tone that made Hux’s stomach tighten, just a little.

He pushed himself down onto the unyielding replica and god it _did_ feel like Ren’s dick, if it were harder and colder and not attached to such an obnoxious monstrosity of a human being. Hux gasped softly and gave his most camera-ready moan, breathy and pretty. He would never admit to the number of PornHub videos he’d watched to get it down.

“Fuck,” Ren said, dutifully keeping up his pace. “You don’t make those noises when we’re not competing, babe. Have you been holding back on me?”

“I do,” Hux snapped. “You’re just too busy with your inane babbling to actually listen.” He leaned into the camera, parting his lips and wetting them with the tip of his tongue so they glistened. “Listen closely.”

There was a clenched muscle in Ren’s jaw that suggested he was. Intently.

Hux pushed his hips down further and this time the moan came out of its own volition. Ren’s dick, even when made of plastic, was a uniquely perfect sensation, a combination of just too much pressure and stretching that frankly made his head spin, just a little.

“Oh,” Hux gasped, this time on purpose. “Oh Ren… oh god fuck, its… it’s so good it’s so… it’s so big, I’ve… I’ve missed this so much, _Ren!”_

The last he punctuated with a particularly breathy moan that made his skin flush and heat with shame and other things he didn’t care to investigate. The quickest way to Ren’s dick was his ego, which was isometrically sized to said dick and thus a rather easy target.

Ren groaned something that sounded distinctly like ‘ _fucking ginger twinks._ ’ “You’re so good babe,” he panted. “I’m gonna come in your itty bitty ass and you’re gonna be so hot and full, and I’m gonna make you come until you’re fuckign senseless, babe. It’s gonna feel so good babe, you’re going to come all over yourself and you’re gonna scream my name over and over and—use your dick you fucking asshole, I see you cheating.”

Hux fisted a hand around his cock and began to jack off appropriately furiously, a real moan escaping his lips. His skin was buzzing and his chest felt impossibly tight; each pump of his fist made his muscles clench and a thrill that felt dangerously close to orgasm jolt up his spine.

A wicked idea occurred to him and he groaned aloud with delight.

“Ren, come in me,” he gasped, now very very short of breath. “Ren, please, please, I need it, come in me please Ren, _please—“_

“I’m gonna make you come the way you did when your slutty virgin ass came begging for my cock,” Ren growled in response, voice tense but refusing to be baited. “Remember that, babe? You’d never come that hard. I bet before that you’d never even orgasmed properly, just jacked off in the shower and imagined Einstein shirtless or some shit. You can’t help yourself around me, babe, you can’t fucking help being such a little slut—“

Hux was so perilously close his entire body strained to hold it back, a veritable avalanche of an orgasm that would blast him senseless, senseless like Ren said—

His hips jerked and Ren’s dildo shifted and a white-hot impulse slammed through him like a brutal physical thrust and his mind went promptly to shit, moaning and clawing at the sheets like an animal. He gasped out a harsh wave of bludgeoning bliss that could very well have knocked him unconscious, for all he could tell. Distantly, as if from light years away, he could hear himself gasp out Ren’s name and something that could have been anything from Gaelic curses to a couple digits of pi.

When the fuzzy haze of rational consciousness returned, Hux was immediately aware that his head hurt. His muscles felt like jell-o; he could hardly have sat up any more than he could have performed cold fusion.

“Ow,” he said. He’d hit his head on the wall. Mr. Mittens stared at him judgmentally from the foot of the bed. The screen on his laptop was black and he felt as if he’d just run a marathon and had a deep full-body massage at the same time.

He waited for Ren’s triumphant crowing and was somewhat surprised not to hear him shouting like his favorite wrestler had won at wrestlemania. “Ren?”

“Fuck, I came on the webcam,” Ren’s voice said, a bit muffled. “One sec. Oh god, Leia’s gonna fucking kill me. At least she has a keyboard cover, I can wash that in the sink.”

The screen flashed a few shades of black and then Ren’s face appeared again, dark eyes looking rather wild. “Alright, let’s hear it. Did you come first or did I?”

“You did,” Hux said. “I haven’t yet.”

“Babe, you have come on your face.”

Hux flushed what he could see was a deep scarlet snagged the nearest shirt and mopped rather vigorously at his face.

“Just kidding,” Ren grinned. “But you’re a terrible liar, anyways. Let’s call it a draw then, shall we babe?”

“Fine.” Hux said, willing his embarrassment to fade. Ren was absolutely the most incorrigible, awful asshole he’d ever met. “How did you know about shirtless Einstein? Were you poking around my things?”

For a second the question didn’t register, and then Ren threw back his head and began to howl, actually howl with laughter. For a second Hux was afraid he’d cracked completely, that the absolute absurdity of their not-relationship had fractured his dubious sanity entirely.

“That was just a guess, babe,” Ren said, now more under control but still guffawing and grinning. “Fuck, you really did? God that’s—I fucking love you, babe.”

It could have been the spiked hot chocolate, the tub of ice cream, the emotional rollercoaster, the dendrite-killing orgasm, or the sheer cheesiness of Gilmore Girls but Hux found himself blurting out, “I have to come be with you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Ren looked taken aback, just briefly, and that probably should have hurt, but Hux was still too weak to sit up let alone have wounded feelings. Besides, Ren was the one who said that he not-loved him, not Hux.  “What, worried I’m gonna start screwing all the cute nurses? There was a guy who tried to give me his number in the cafeteria, he probably had at least two kids and maybe a toupee. You should have worn that nurse outfit for me more while you had the chance—“

“I mean it,” Hux pressed. “Your father’s ill, and it’s almost Christmas. I’ve seen my parents, I’m sure they’ll—they’ll understand—“

“You don’t need to, babe,” Ren said, and he did sound casual, almost too much so. “It’s… it’s complicated here—oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck, babe, I gotta run—“

“Why?” Hux demanded. “Ren, if you’re going to run every time I say two words to you that aren’t about your dick—“

The screen blurred nightmarishly and Hux heard the scuffle of the microphone being manhandled and then Ren’s face, just briefly.

“What the hell, Ren?!” Hux snapped. “Ren? Ren!”

Ren’s face appeared in the screen. The angle shifted rapidly so that Hux could just barely make out his nose or a flash of dark hair. “Now don’t be mad babe but I was in a public bathroom and I thought I was alone—“

“Ren!” Hux shouted, horrified by how shrill his voice had gone. “Ren, you better be joking— _REN—“_

The screen went dark and moments later the call ended with a obscenely cheerful trill.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed, you can find me and many other uncomfortable things on my [tumblr](http://firstordershitposting.tumblr.com) Come say hi! <3
> 
> The second chapter will (hopefully) be up soon. <3


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